The Black Widow
by FunkToFunky
Summary: 'I've worked playboy philanthropists. I know them. Clint Barton was not one of them.' She tilted her chin in an indiscernible nod.
**Hello! This is the first fanfiction I have written for the Marvel universe, and so I hope all the characters are relatively in character - I did find some harder to write than others! This is a little snippet of a fanfiction that I am planning to write in three months time - (if there is enough interest for me to continue this) - that will essentially be a Black Widow origins story. This isn't actually how I plan for it to start, but it was the first bit that I felt like writing. So, please enjoy and let me know what you think! Thank you!
**

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 _5th April 2006._

 _S.H.I.E.L.D Containment Cell 1._

 _Location: classified._

The box was timeless. Dark concrete panels of greying hues clung to the floor. The walls were no different, their crippling shoulders hunched forward to meet at apices as if old men in prayer. There were no windows, no means to determine when day turned to night, or when summer turned to winter, or whether it no longer mattered. In the centre, under shuddering lights, stood a desk and three chairs.

Natalia Romanova sat, bound to the wood by metal handcuffs. Little did her captors know that they were her safety blanket, her one constant; amongst the shifting world, they kept her stable, attached, even when the steel teeth bit down and stained her skin red. She shifted to accommodate the sharp sting, face nonchalant.

Naturally, her second scope of the room began soon after. There were four cameras, each blinking slowly at her through suspicious, half-lidded eyes. From what she could determine, there were no gas inlets on the ceiling, nor ventilation shafts. Good. She had made that mistake once before, and it hadn't ended well. A thick door, without a handle, barred her from the liberty beyond. All in all, the space was stark, spare the human centrepiece.

It was a few minutes before she was delivered three shiny new agents to play with. Two planted themselves before her, and one preferred the seclusion of a darkened corner. She frowned imperceptibly. It wasn't often she was refused a vantage point on her interrogators. The Black Widow would have to draw him out.

Agent Adrian Foster thumbed through a laughably gaunt file. His hands were large, fingers stocky and rounded off with haphazardly hacked nails. Hair very much the same, the swell of his cheeks ended in pursed lips and a firm jaw line. Natalia disliked him immediately. There was something hard in his expression. It seemed unnervingly Russian, now that she had become accustomed to the so-called American warmth with which Barton had lured her here. But then again, she reminded herself, they were not the enemy. She was.

Eyes blank, Natalia wondered whether the silence was supposed to be intimidating. Whether this bear of a man was supposed to be intimidating. Were these really S.H.I.E.L.D's finest? She shook herself away from the file to observe the female agent. Her hands were more interesting: svelte and sharp, fingers unfurled not unlike the arms of a willow tree.

Maria Hill perused the woman before her with something akin to morbid fascination. The Black Widow was younger than she had expected, or, indeed, anyone had expected. Fascinatingly, the Russian hadn't spoken a word since leaving the jet, favouring the rebellion of silence.

Foster abandoned the file to fix an irate stare on Natalia. 'Let's start with a name, shall we?'

She waited a calculated moment before granting them an answer, the intonation of word after word devoid of Russian stragglers. 'I don't feel the need for a S.H.I.E.L.D-issued toe-tag, do you?' Maria arched a slim eyebrow in surprise. _When_ exactly did she decide to get chatty?

Foster wore a look of barely concealed triumph. 'Aw, shucks - S.H.I.E.L.D finance just won't stretch to those.' He shook the file loose of a few photos to slide them across the wood.

She did not flinch as the photographed blood burned into her. There were her sallow puppets, spines hitched triangularly, heads twisted just so. Those contorted faces scratched at her eyes and yet all she pulled into her face was sweet boredom.

Foster pressed a stubby finger into the nose of one man. 'This one dates back to '94. Do the math. Couldn't possibly be your kill. I figure this was your inspiration. Two years back, another hit shows up on our radar, and another, and another. You got sloppy. And, still, every man we sent to track you down wound up dead in some dingy motel.' He inclined his head to the five uniformed men in parade.

She had the decency not to seem proud.

'Now, call it ego, call it narcissism, but to unmask the Widow-'

'Medals. Plaques. Maybe even a national holiday,' Natalia interjected dryly.

'You've got it.' His expression darkened. 'So humour me.'

'I can't. The blank space is fitting with your aesthetic.' _Her name was all she had from before_.

Foster's voice grew dangerously low. 'I said humour me.'

Natalia cocked her head, feigning deep thought. 'Or the gap in Arrow Boy's knowledge assigned for training protocol.' It was a shame her smirk was internalised.

Frowning, Maria interposed. 'Agent Barton is one of S.H.I.E.L.D's most valuable assets-'

The Russian's head snapped around. 'And yet his cover was mediocre at best.'

'He fooled you,' Foster reminded her. The side of his mouth twitched.

Natalia straightened. The cameras chuckled throatily at her, as if revelling in some private victory.

'I've worked playboy philanthropists. I know them. Clint Barton was not one of them.' She tilted her chin in an indiscernible nod to herself.

'But you're here, aren't you? Stuck I should add. Our prisoner.' Adrian tapped his fingers across the table's edge and smiled haughtily.

Natalia supposed laying a small web wouldn't hurt. 'You don't strike me as naive, Agent Foster. Just arrogant. My staying here is not against my will.' She willed him to stumble into her trap as she nestled in the shadows, attuned to any shift in the weight of the conversation.

The man puffed out some air, shaking his head. 'Armed guards at every available exit. Lasers attuned to your genetic code. You're in cuffs, Widow. Do you honestly believe you're any kind of threat?'

And then she could smile.

 _Got him_.

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 **(By the way, I am British so some spellings may be different, but I will try and adjust the dialogue to match Americanisms).**


End file.
